


In Which Alex Is An Idiot and John Demands Cuddles

by mira_las_estrellas



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Overworked Hamilton, Seriously though it's a Cuddlefic, request, there's a tag for that wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-21 12:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11944374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mira_las_estrellas/pseuds/mira_las_estrellas
Summary: Alexander Hamilton was a great man. He was charming, so intelligent it almost hurt, funny, the most mentally stimulating conversation partner John had ever encountered; and for all that he denied it, sweet, gorgeous, adorable, and caring in his own, very special way.Unfortunately, Alexander Hamilton could also put a mule to shame in a competition of stubborness.AKA In Which Alex Overworks Himself - Again - And Cuddles are Always The Solution.





	In Which Alex Is An Idiot and John Demands Cuddles

**Author's Note:**

> A friend asked for a cuddlefic. Another friend demanded hurt/comfort. I can't say no.

Alexander Hamilton was a great man, despite and his recurring promises that he could be greater, 'just you wait'. He was charming, so intelligent it almost hurt, funny, the most mentally stimulating conversation partner John had ever encountered; and for all that he denied it, John knew him to be sweet, gorgeous, adorable, and caring in his own, very special way.

"Alex, _please_."

"Not now, John."

Unfortunately, Alexander Hamilton could also put a mule to shame in a competition of stubborness.

"Come on-"

"Not. Now. John," the writer hissed, more at the computer than at his partner. He buried his face in his hands for the shortest moment, rubbed at his bloodshot eyes, then groaned and resumed his _click-click-click_ typing. 

John let out a silent sigh. It had been almost thirteen hours of constant _click-click-click_ from his computer, essays and angry Twitter responses and financial reports, without a single moment to pause. John had found him working in the morning, and didn't need to ask to know he hadn't paused a single moment.

That made two nights without sleep. Not bad, by Hamilton standards, but he usually took some pauses, ate, remembered to take care of himself if only because of that one time he had fainted and John had freaked out.

He reached for two cups to fill with coffee, then added a third. Alex needed coffee like he needed oxygen to survive. 

He probably was going to ingest them quickly, realize the time, then run to get dressed and be in his office in time for more writing. Always writing, writing, pause to fight with Jefferson, or Adams, or whoever was opposing him at the moment, and back to bills and essays and aggressive articles.

And then he would come back home, realize he hadn't talked to John in three days, and apologize. They would hug, or go to bed, and Hamilton would try to finish all of his work before coming home the morrow, until the day he got stressed because of something, anything, and worked himself into a stupor again.

It was always the same, a constant rinse and repeat. But then again, it came along with the Alexander Hamilton package. Total inability to care for his own health or stop working at reasonable times. Completely made up for by great conversations and awesome kisses.

John didn't bother to knock. He just set the coffee on the secretary's cluttered desk and waited for Hamilton to notice.

It took almost a minute for the smaller man to blink and turn away from his work. He stared at the coffee, then at John. His computer, John. The coffee. John again.

"Laurens? What time is it?" he drawled, pupils flittering about. John's heart constricted in his chest.

He was drowning in his clothes, his bun doing nothing to hold his hair in. He looked small, and lost, and he was too stubborn to accept help.

"Seven-fifty," he said. It was five past eight, but Hamilton was too lost to even check the time on his own computer.

"Fuck." Alex whispered, running a hand over his face. "Tell Washington- I need my phone, I need to tell Washington-"

"Alex-"

"I can't go today, I have- I have the plan, I need my phone, I need to tell Washington-"

"Alex-"

"It's all there, I can write it, I need to keep going, I can't go to work, Jefferson will-"

"Alex!"

Hamilton jumped in his seat. He blinked again. 

"John?" he asked, voice suddenly small. Hadn't they known each other for years, hadn't John spent so much time learning his every tell sign, he would have never noticed he was trembling.

"Yes?"

"I'm about to faint?"

"Shit," John cursed, body moving before he had the chance to panic properly. He picked Alexander up - so small, he weighted nothing at all - and carried him to the sofa, piling cushions under his legs to keep them up, get the blood flowing back to his head - sugars. He needed sugars, of course, he probably hadn't eaten in more than a day. There was candy in the kitchen, and juice. Hydration was also something Alex had probably forgotten.

When he rushed back to the living room Hamilton was unconscious.

He was breathing deeply, so that was not a problem, but John had no idea of whether to wake him or let him rest. He desperately needed the sleep-

Better safe than sorry, John decided, and poked Alexander's side.

The secretary woke up with a start, almost hitting John in the face. So much for not having energy.

"Sorry," he croaked out, dropping back to the couch with a defeated sigh.

"I really need some chocolate. And some tea. Coffee. I need coffee. And my phone."

"Alexander, shut up," John growled. Hamilton stopped with a shudder, but nodded in defeat.

John jumped to the couch near him, entangling their legs and grabbing at his wrinkled sweater to remove it. It went without much resistance - Alex was too tired to fight.

He wrinkled his nose at the smell that immediately hit him - of course, he hadn't eaten, why would he shower? - and grabbed Alexander's shoulders, started rubbing lightly. Get the blood flowing, relieve some tension, he honestly had no idea what he was trying to do, but Hamilton almost moaned in relief, so he must've been going in the right direction.

"Sssshhh, it's ok. It's ok. You're an idiot, you know that? You have now lost the right to refer to yourself as a smart man," John murmured, rubbing circles in his back with one hand and keeping up his lazy massage with the other.

"Washington-"

"I'll call Washington. You're not going out today," he reassured, knowing well that actually keeping Alexander Hamilton from work when he was determined to go was an impossible feat. He could at least hope he decided to rest this time, but knowing Alex, he was going to jump back to his computer as soon as he was able to think straight again.

Not yet though. First, he was going to stay with John until he either deemed him fit for work, or Alex got too restless and wriggled out of his grasp like a bratty infant.

The wonderful man with a mind too big for his poor, mortal form did that, too.

John's fingers started aching, so he moved them upwards, gently tugging on the messy bun to let Hamilton's uncombed hair cascade down his shoulders, thin rivulets of messy brown. Still not as messy as his hair, though. 

He starting carding his fingers through them, gently tugging whenever he found a knot until it was freed. Under his other hand, still rubbing small, soothing circles in Alex's back, he felt his breathing grow slower and heavier.

He really needed the sleep, though. John smiled and kept on his work, untangling hair and rubbing circles on his back, his arms, taking off the shoes he hadn't noticed until now - of course he hadn't even taken off his shoes before running to the computer, that was such a Hamilton thing to do - undoing the buttons of the dirty work shirt and pulling it off. He only left Alexander's side to steal a wrinkled blanket from his bed and sit down to throw it on the both of them. He pulled his friend closer and just held him, checking on his breathing and his heartbeat occasionally. 

Before he realized it, he was dozing off, too. He had to stay home take care of Alex anyway, so he made himself comfortable. Hamilton might go back to work almost immediately, but he still needed to be reminded to take a bath and feed. Until then, John could just relax a little.

True to restless-Hamilton expectations, Alex was awake again in no more than ten minutes, rousing John from his own light sleep.

"John?" he drawled, voice thick. John jumped to disentagle them as soon as he picked up Hamilton's rapidly accelerating breathing.

"Hey, hey, shh, it's ok. I have some water, can you drink?"

Alex blinked a few times, eyes unfocused on any particular thing, until they seemed to latch onto John's shirt. He nodded slowly, his breathing evening out, but not enough for John to relax yet.

He brought the glass of water to Hamilton's lips, and the writer took small sips, pausing to breathe in between more often than not. John had to take the water away with the glass still half-full when it grew obvious that he couldn't finish it.

"Do you need anything? You should have breakfast," John decided, before giving him the chance to answer, but Alex grabbed his wrist just as he moved to run in the kitchen.

"Sugar. Washington. Blanket. Laptop." John furrowed his eyebrows at the usually brilliantly eloquent Alexander Hamilton struggling with words, but nodded. It wasn't the first time Alexander decided to not speak ( _went nonverbal_ , he remembered, that was what he had told John), but it almost never happened. 

As soon as he was back and in himself, they would need to have a chat.

Requests. Sugar was easy. The candy and juice. He had forgot about that. Alex nodded in approval and managed to move his hands enough to eat a piece. The glass lay abandoned on the coffee table. 

Washington and the blanket were easy, too. Hamilton's boss sounded reasonably irritated, but overall seemed to expect it. The blanket was Alex's favorite, left behind by the previous owner, older and softer than any they had bought since moving in. It took John about thirty seconds of searching before he found it under Hamilton's desk. 

The laptop, though, John was not going to concede on, and he knew Alexander well enough to know that he would expect that.

That certainly didn't stop him from glaring at the artist when he stepped in the room without the device.

"I need to finish my article," he croaked, without any real bite to it. John didn't bother to resist rolling his eyes. 

"You need to rest." 

"John. I am a grown man, I can finish my work before taking a nap-"

"Rest. Ten minutes? I'll make you hot chocolate later. Cuddle with me," he suggests, taking another breath to renegotiate-

"Ok."

_Wait, what?_

"Ten minutes. Then I get back to work."

John beamed, and Alexander's gaze softened in response. 

"Yeah, ten minutes," he agreed. 

Half an hour later, Hamilton was back to work, clutching a mug of hot chocolate and wrapped in a blanket and a sleeping boyfriend.


End file.
